Tuesday, 25 October 2016

A T. Rex, Trappist Trombonist!

I'm the son of a Sousaphone, for your love, a T Rex, Trappist Trombonist; I love the way you fiddle, come fiddly dee dee, octaves up the chromatic scale. Your slender bow across my strings; a slow burner on a hot stove. My razzmatazz, you're Cajun Jazz; you're the taxi, I'm the bus. Share your blues and I'll share mine, we'll paint the streets with burnished rhyme. I'm a Howling wolf on a rainy night, bass pizzicato on a rumbling street, Umbrella fella, Jack of the Bier Keller. Stretch your strings, bring your harmony, even out my beats. Love is the Jazz, love is nazz, lets improvise so neat!

Words by Trev Teasdel

Listen to it on the video

Inspired by this painting by Adrian Borda
Artist | Professional | Traditional Art
Romania,which can be seen here http://borda.deviantart.com/

The whole bus was texting and...

The bus was packed, I found a seat at the back, squashed between noisy Droids and Ewoks. The whole bus was texting and talking, posturing and pouting, quoting the news, spreading the rumour, running down Jim, running down Jennifer, making assumptions, talking with irony, telephone banking, buying on line, bragging and boasting, 2nd hand opinions, washed up politics, bullying and bantering. Nobody says what they're feeling, nobody speaks from the heart, no one sees the universal thread that binds us heart to heart. We put on a show, we take a stance, we hide the emotion, we dodge the issue, we're scared to be weak, we're scared to be wrong, we're scared to be who the hell we are. We don't look inside, question what we hear, what they tell us to think, what they say we must hear. We're all of one seed, all of one need, lost in the noise, lost in the din.The bus pulled in, the seats all empty, all the meaningless words just fell to the floor. Are we all empty shells, heartless and aching, consumers of 'news', adverts and opinions. The bus pulled out, noiseless and empty and I spoke from the heart and I spoke from the soul and I sat in the seat of my choice!

Words by Trev Teasdel

Daphne had had enough of holograms for one day....

Just then, a football, from Cov City football ground,1960's, came through the window. 'Christ', said, Daphne, 'I was just about to come' 'How on earth did that ball take so long to get here!' George, scratched his beard.'It's because you put Cockney Rebel on the turntable again!' Daphne wasn't convinced - this was 1974 and that ball went missing in 1961. 'Something weird is happening here George' she said, heading for the bath room. 'The world is more surreal than any Dali painting - don't you get a sense of that?' George put on his boxers and watched the boxing "Sorry babe, I never notice these things. Women are always more attuned to it." Daphne did up the buttons of her braided coat and slid down the Bannister of the multi-storied flats when Steve Harley called out from the top block "We can work it out " he sang. " I did the football trick just to get your attention, come on up!" Daphne had had enough of holograms for one day and took a bus to 2017 where life was much simpler. Meanwhile another missing football hit a nearby juke box - it was the rebel himself...

Words by Trev Teasdel

Just because the night was dark...

Just because the night was dark it doesn't mean that eyes can't see, the wasp-nest hairdo, the stinging tail, the Orlando snail in the frog- spawn pail. Third-gear mustache, break-peddle hologram, she hitched her skirt and hitched a ride. The night was snarling, the moon was misty, they rode the road through the rocks of hell. Four string pentagram, the eyes of Horus, they stopped off at Henry's Hourglass. The night was juicy, the hour was roxy, they loved like moonbeams on the run from the sun. The night was a quark, the daylight a skylark, love was the answer without a question...

Words by Trev Teasdel

My name is Danny...

My name is Danny, I'm a self-employed juggler from Danville, I'm a Paul Newman look a like, I taught James Dean how to strut. I wrestled with a water cannon in Dry Water Gulch, I bent the world back in shape and spat out all the corruption. I was born on the run, in the State of loneliness, I had attitude spilling from my jeans. The world was my baseball and I batted it against the wall of space. No one ever cared, no one held out their hand, so I invented a life no one expected. You can call me Danny but I don't answer to my name, I never did what you thought and I dodged all the blame. If you're cute, I will sing but the words will only make sense to me...

Words by Trev Teasdel

Back to back bedsit...

Back to back bedsit above the bakers; she liked her cake and eat it, open legs, open relationship. She smoked too many cigarettes, told too many lies, dreamed too big for her income; thought the world was made of gold. The rain beat down on her unzipped top, her hair was cropped, her wages docked. She was like a saxophone, talented fingers could play her tune, the rest just made a noise.The rain beat down on this cake tin town. She was playing her way through plain flour, aiming to be self-raising, with the crumbs of dreams rolling in her mind. She played the flute for recreation, down in the depth of Baker Street Station; she was a tubular bell in an underground network, off the cuff and off the rails. Life was a story going nowhere in particular, with rubbish plots and crazy dialogue. She baked on Sunday and made it with anyone who came by on Monday...

Words by Trev Teasdel

Swoop down, long neck...

Swoop down, long neck, what the heck, fish call, waterfall, wing it, sing it, catch it and bring it. Beaky, sneaky, your web-foot is leaky.

Words and photo by Trev Teasdel

Meanings Clatter

Sat in my front room where meanings clatter I daydreamed myself into the 'Regatta at Argenteuil', by Monet, on the wall, by the blue and yellow stripes, and sat by the Seine watching the impressionism of boats and the trains, in the particles and waves of my imagination. Yachts in full sail in the summer sun. I watched the world and it's boats in the mad race of time and had coffee on the Japanese bridge at Giverny. That's all I came to say..

Words by Trev Teasdel

She lived in a bottle....

She lived in a bottle washed up on the beach, I built her a castle of sand, she had a piano and one or two books and seafood kept her trim. She polished the molecules of the ocean's waves, I watched her from outside. I'd never met someone who lived in a bottle but she harmonised my soul. I cleaned off the sand and watched her play on the twinkling keys; her voice rose high until the bottle broke and we ran away across the hot sand beach...

Words by Trev Teasdel

Because civilisation...

Because civilisation makes no sense half-eaten donuts paint lemonade ships on nuclear fire engines. The fur-coated weather whistles down chimney-pots telling lies about the two-timed moon and the Arch-Duke of Wallpaper has been stripped of rank. But me I'm writing a memo to the President of all things about the plans to repossess the Earth while my 6 wives and walnut platypus seek shelter inside the word 'Kelloggs'!

Words by Trev Teasdel

Judge Mental

Judge Mental was a law unto himself and presided over a fake morality. He lived inside a Whisky bottle with 15 platonic wives and studied esoteric lore on the side. He knew the world was crazy and all the ancient knowledge was lost or disregarded but he was judgmental and had to be seen to be so. One night he heard the blues for the first time and bought himself a guitar and harp. His mind slid up to the 12th fret and dropped in semi-tones down the hypotenuse. Twice around the block, he met Rory and never judged again...

Words by Trev Teasdel

He sat down at the table...

He sat down at the table. Van Morrison was painting some mural on the wall. Rod Stewart was kissing some leggy blond. The universe was desperate, it's funds were limited and he reached his hands to his chin. It wasn't quite so hopeless, there was a power inside him, that he could invoke. He thought of her, and a tear rolled down his cheek, the road to love was never straightforward, Van donned the guitar and Rod added the words, he wasn't one to be kept down, he would climb out of this hole and paint the stars. He supped his pint and listened to the lilt of voice and guitar. He swore he saw her sneaking past, he picked up his courage and left his heart for her in the song...

Words by Trev Teasdel

With the world in a jug....

One a man with an umbrella put the world in a jug, watched from the outside, wars, carnage, volcanoes, Tsunamis, lying papers, plotting politicians. He was quite glad not to be in that jug and went for a pint and placed the jug on the bar. People came in, got quite drunk and watched."It's a crazy place" they'd say, 'would never go there!'. The man with the umbrella lived in a different jug; there they had fun, laughed, shared, grew real food,were open and honest with each other, banished politics, made love not war, learnt the magic to the universe, wrote, painted, played music. The man drank up his beer and sold the old jug a scrap dealer.

Words by Trev Teasdel

Under a Beltane Moon

The rain was belting down under a Beltane Moon, sleet showers on the steep slant to Staithes. The North sea was dancing wild like Nijinsky, Isadora Duncan, with poetry in it's soul, and longing in it's heart. Deep in the cave where hope hid from the politics of the day, came a sound etched on fuzzed guitars, a sliding bass, a heartfelt voice. He hugged the air as if a lover and put the headphones on fast...

Words by Trev Teasdel

Postcard bought in Whitby 1982 from a painting by Kevin Platt

Down on the Low Green

Down on the Low Green where the Leven streams with fallen leaves brown and green, where all my dreams and schemes thrive or fall when the sun beams or the rain teams, where i know what life means or what it seems.Down on the Low Green where the Leven streams.

Words and photo by Trev Teasdel

Literal on the clitter oil

Literal on the clitter oil, fecund to the clutter toil, don't put the blamer on your Daimler, she won't appreciate all the grease you ate. Henrietta's bouffant carburetors were on the plate, to a four-wheeled man of letters. Too heavy on the clutch, she spoke in double Dutch, accelerate to deviate, you know just where to meet.

Words and music by Trev Teasdel

Seagull Sky

I fly in the seagull sky, above the fish-bounce sea, below a silver-clouded Rolls Royce sky, land on the crab-claw beach where seaweed surfs the wagtail waves.

Words and photo by Trev Teasdel

Aeronautical Snakepit

Aeronautical snakepit, draconian Dakota, casual cockpit, arrow-tipped afrontage, wing-tipped fuselage, tight lipped take off, airborn to the aerodrome, muse in the museum!

Words and Photo by Trev Teasdel

Yorkshire air museum

It's a fake world, a mistake world

It's a fake world, a mistake world, a piss take world with fake news and fake nudes, this photo-shoppin', robot-coppin', hip-hop bopping fakery - plastic bread at the bakery. Piss-take politics, mistake politics - impoverish and don't bovverish! It's Dennis the Menace and Minnie the Minx, at the top of the pyramid, at the foot of the Sphinx. Fake boobs and fake cocks is all you get and all you've got. Don't be blue, if you haven't got a clue, this fakery's all for you. There's no real world, as science unfurled, the earth is flat and your mind is curled. Believe what you will in this dish, of potent pig's swill. Fake world, fake world, 'don't break the news,' world! Amen!

Words by Trev Teasdel

She stepped out of a still life...

She stepped out of a still life and threw the apples across the street. I was on the otherside, checking Facebook when her phone call came. There was a Gorilla on bass guitar and two hermaphrodites in the band. I was hanging out with a hedge-fund manager but I never carried cash. She spotted me in my MG and came over all coy. Down the road apiece she revved my engines and moved things up a gear. There must be fifty ways to say ' I love you' but I couldn't think of a single one. We drifted down to Sand Dune Town faking innocence and rolled into the Art House Cafe. Green Onion soup and a party in every painting. I kissed her in places unknown to man and left a note for her in someone's stockings...

Words by Trev Teasdel